Radar
by crazymadjo
Summary: Cuddy makes some tough decisions. Post season seven finale.


**Radar**

**by crazymadjo**

**Story takes place after season seven finale. **

Her mother told her to stay and fight.

Her sister told her to run and hide.

Her mother spoke of lawyers and court rooms. Damages and fines. "Hit him in the pocketbook. That's where it hurts the most."

Her sister spoke of restraining orders, unlisted phone numbers, gated communities. "This one has cameras on every square inch of property. Nobody could come near without your knowing."

As usual, she found her own way through the middle, pleasing neither of them. Moving was the hardest decision at all. But it wasn't fear, or hiding. He'd never come near her again, of this she was certain. If she stayed, he would go. Or at least, he would quit. She wasn't sure he could ever give up his apartment for good.

But … she realized, even with his physical presence removed, he would continue to haunt her. Every person who walked into her office, every call, every complaint, every piece of paper to cross her desk. She would always be waiting for the next one to be from him, be about him, _be him. _

And even now, the thought of that didn't frighten her. And that scared the hell out of her.

She wanted to see him again. She wanted it so badly, she could barely breathe at the thought of it. She wanted to hurt him. To scream. To watch him die. To have his last vestige of security and assurance forever ripped away before her eyes. To touch his face, dig her nails in, claw and pull and force his lips so tightly against hers that they both bled.

_GOD! _How could she possibly explain to her mother that she didn't want to take him back to court, she wanted to take him back to bed. Longing, love, hate, and rage tore through her body, poured ice water into her heart and soul. Burned and froze and re-thawed her, daily. Hourly.

She lived by the clock. Every chunk of time passed without thinking of him was a victory, and even that was also a fresh stab of grief.

Other hospitals were calling with juicy job offers before she'd even made up her mind to consider any of them. Good news travels fast. At first she was incensed. Why did they all just assume she'd leave _her_ hospital? But once she'd made up her mind, she wondered why she ever considered staying. Her time was soon filled to the brim with the challenges of learning about a new hospital, finding the strengths and weaknesses of the staff, policies, departments, making the best of the former and minimizing the latter, discovering new things to love, as well as things she never realized she'd miss. They filled her days with exhilaration and purpose.

And they enabled her to push _him_ far to the back of her mind for blissful hours at a time.

Few people from PPTH called or visited, and she was glad … and a little hurt. Especially Wilson, but she realized that – as always – his uncanny radar for what other people needed was in full working order, and the last thing she needed was such a tempting connection back to _him_. The strain of trying to have a conversation without mentioning _him_ would have made it too ludicrous to contemplate. No, it was for the best.

She never saw the banker again. Her sister tried to fix her up a few more times before claiming to give up. Ran out of suitable candidates, more likely. Not like straight, single, upwardly mobile men in the age range she'd even consider were growing on trees. Not that she was even ready to put her trust in a man again. At least that's what she told herself.

Months passed, and she settled into her new position. The hospital and she adjusted to each other. She learned and grew, and her new life settled with surprising speed into a smooth routine.

Sometimes she'd get through an entire day without thinking of him once.

She celebrated Hanukkah with her mother and sister. Her mother nitpicked her clothing, hair, car, Rachel's outfit, Rachel's preschool, both their diets, and never once mentioned her love life. On her way out the door, she hugged her mom extra tight.

On her way to the car, there was a text message on her cell phone. Wilson inviting her to meet at a coffee shop if she was in town.

She stared at it for several minutes, too shocked to even think how to respond. What happened to the world famous 'radar'? How could he possibly think she was ready to even have a passing brush with her old life so soon? To be put in a position where she'd either have to hear about _him_, or awkwardly suffer the agony of ignoring the giant elephant in a two-person-sized room? How could he be so ..?

It struck her with absolutely clarity. She wanted to know how House was doing. Not to find an excuse to see him again (she was even able to admit that this was ever a concern), but … but because she just really wanted to know. She still wasn't sure if she wanted to hear that he was okay, or not. Recovering or struggling or something in-between. She was just … ready to be aware of his existence again. To cast her mind in his direction, and be confident that she could handle it. To take the surge of still incredibly mixed emotions firmly in hand and give herself permission to take them on, one by one.

To actually consider that some day, some how, she would actually be able to see him again, and accept that it could be wonderful, terrible, or nothing at all.

She texted back that she was on her way.

End


End file.
